


The night is the hardest time to be alive

by pharaohfucker96



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: (....you'll see), Accidental Prostitute Fujiki Yuusaku, Barebacking, Bondage, Canon Compliant, Canon compliant trauma, Dildos, Fujiki Yusaku: Disaster Area, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Insomnia, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Multi, POSSIBLY NOT THE SAFEST SITUATION YUSAKU COULD HAVE PUT HIMSELF IN, Painful Sex, Pegging, Pre-Canon, Rated E for Explicitly Depressing, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Swing, Sex Toys, Spitroasting, Underage Prostitution, Yusaku is 15 here so uhhhh yes, Yusaku makes extremely questionable choices I'm sorry, sketchy gift giving, sugar daddy in the house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-06-28 21:17:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15715263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pharaohfucker96/pseuds/pharaohfucker96
Summary: There isn’t really a reason the first time it happens.Yusaku can't sleep. He stumbles on an unconventional solution.





	1. Steep my senses in forgetfulness

**Author's Note:**

> ......yes this is underage!hooker Yusaku fic TURN BACK NOW OR FOREVER HOLD YOUR PEACE!!
> 
> special thanks to extreme cheerleader [redacted] for basically being the reason this fic exists by throwing an avalanche of extreme flattery in my face. 
> 
> This fic is 90% written and will have probably 2 or 3 chapters. Please heed the warnings, but also - this is basically my personal pre-canon for Yusaku and you wont convince me otherwise.

There isn’t really a reason the first time it happens. 

The night is not significantly different than any other - he doesn’t wake up screaming earlier or later. The dreams aren’t more horrifying than they ever are - some part of him sometimes hopes that he can grow, not accustomed, but numbed to the horror of it. That he can finally look at it in a cynical light, bored by the constant repetition.

  
Instead, it is very often now the most vivid part of the day, his emotions never as  _ present,  _ as achingly  _ real _ , as in his nightmares.

It’s not even the first time he’s gone out walking when the walls of his apartment became too oppressive, the silence too present.

So there isn’t a reason, no big decision he makes, no new trauma to put into a movie and play over what he supposes many would see as his downfall into depravity, his final despoiling.

It’s simply him, walking down another brightly sparkling street at 3am idly wondering whether he should try alcohol to sleep, when an unassuming man comes up to him furtively with an offer.

And maybe there really is something even more wrong, more deeply damaged within him, because he doesn’t balk, he doesn’t consider how dangerous it could be to go into a shady Love Hotel with this man, this stranger.

The only thing he thinks of in that moment, really, is  _ I guess it’s something to do  _ (one). He doesn’t really see any good reason to refuse (two). It’s not like it matters (three).

And it might have stayed as a one time thing, because it isn’t …  _ horrible.  _ He can tell that the man is doing his best to make it good for him, to not hurt him and...it’s fine. It’s whatever.

But the thing is: It’s not like he hasn’t tried orgasms to make him sleep. But apparently there is magic power into having an orgasm and  _ also  _ getting fucked  _ hard _ , because it knocks him  _ right out. _

He wakes up 6 hours later, in the same hotel room, and he thinks he should be concerned about his things, but honestly? He’s not slept a solid 6 hours in months, as far as he is concerned the man can  _ have  _ it.

When he looks at the bedside table though, he can see his wallet, keys and phone neatly arranged and next to it, a discreet envelope. So not only didn’t the man use the time where Yusaku was unconscious to rob him, but he left him - he checks - 20.000 Yen.

He briefly contemplates just leaving it there, but then just tosses the envelope and puts the money in his wallet. He’ll think of  _ something  _ to do with it, or he’ll just donate it. He lays back since he’s already missed enough of school that it probably doesn’t matter and stares at the ceiling. It has interesting new cracks when compared to his own. 

Maybe he should feel something right now. He’s just lost his virginity to a man at least twice his age. And when he was done, the man vanished and left money behind.

But mostly what he feels is  _ not tired _ , like his thoughts belong to him. He’’s sharp in a way he rarely captures now, mind clear without the fog of weariness he’s grown so used to. He does some division in his head and it’s quick and easy and the only thing he can really feel is the weightlessness of relief.

After some time he gets up slowly. There’s a bit of pain in his hips when he moves, but it’s nothing too bad and when he touches his ass, it’s slightly swollen, but there is no blood. That’s better than what he thought he’d get when he accepted so he counts it as a win.

He goes into the tiny en-suite bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror, trying to find what the man saw that he’d take the risk of approaching someone so obviously  _ young.  _

Cold green eyes stare back at him, though his hair is in unusual disarray. There are love bites littered all over his clavicle, a bite mark on his shoulder (all places where they would be carefully hidden by a high uniform collar). 

_“Whore”_ he whispers at his reflection, but even that doesn’t provoke a reaction or any of the emotions he _thinks_ he should feel. 

Shame, regret all vanish under the euphoria of the realisation that he might have finally found a  _ solution _ , something to provide  _ relief. _ When everything else stopped working, when the sleeping pills only pulled him deeper into nightmares he suddenly  _ couldn’t  _ wake up from, he thought that this really was it, that he would just go quietly insane like this, locked away inside his mind.

His body hasn’t felt like his in  _ years _ anyway, so what did it  _ matter _ , if like this he could at least have a way to get back his  _ mind _ , a moment of quietness when he needed it.

 

\----------------

 

He doesn’t go back to that bright street  _ immediately _ . He’s lived long enough with the insomnia that he does have other things to try first and he has reasons why he doesn’t.

Not because he feels guilty it’s just...for one thing he doesn’t even know how he would go about it.

It’s not like he went out that time  _ angling _ to be fucked by a stranger. He looks it up, later, and he finds sites, and platforms where he could  _ offer _ himself, but they seem unsafe,  _ they  _ do make his skin crawl, the thought of putting himself on display like this (one).

But looking for viable  _ Johns _ \- the word makes him want to chuckle, it feels so unreal, but he might as well use the right terminology - seems like so much work, when there are other things he knows he can try first (two).

Maybe most importantly (three), he doesn’t want to be  _ dependent  _ on it. Somehow he knows,  _ knows _ that this could become quickly the easiest option and if the endless hours of reading coding books to pass the time has taught him anything is, that when you let yourself use only ever one option, it very quickly becomes the only solution you have.

Sometimes he lets himself contemplate the fact that it could be so  _ easy _ , just one pill, one shot and maybe he wouldn’t need to remember.

But he also knows that this temptation he probably couldn’t stay away from, and while not a lot scares him anymore, his past too etched into his bones, he has also still not fully learned how to not  _ try _ . Too much of himself still believes that there might be  _ something _ , that he will still do  _ something _ , that maybe at some point something will give.

It will never be like before, but he’s not going to let those assholes win over him.

So he does all the other things he’s tried before. He reads. He does the meditation exercises his last and final therapist recommended. And sometimes it works. And sometimes there are even days he doesn’t need any of it, where after an hour of running, he just  _ sleeps _ .

But it also doesn’t take too long for it to become too draining, too hard, too  _ much _ . So he goes out walking again. And maybe this time he plans his routes more carefully, seeks out the bright, colourful streets with the discreet signs.

He uses the money the first man gave him for himself after all, buys some ripped jeans, tight shirts. He might not have put himself up on those sites, but he saw, he  _ learned _ what might be appealing. And if there is something he has an overabundance of, it certainly is time to be filled, so he teaches himself how to put on eyeliner, how to tousle his hair, how one might catch the eye of someone suitable.

He’s honestly surprised when it  _ instantly works _ . He even went a few days before he would really start to feel the effects of the lack of sleep, because he fully expected it to take much longer than that. But he barely set foot on the road some forum suggested as  _ prime d*ddy hunting ground _ before he is approached.

He can’t help smile at that, because for  _ once _ something really is that easy. The new man (slightly chubby, around 50) apparently takes it as directed at him and nearly trips over his own feet. He wakes up in a much nicer hotel this time, on a Sunday, to a discrete envelope with 40.000 Yen and a phone number

\--------------------------

 

The first time it really goes wrong, he’s mostly surprised it took so long. 

It’s not like he doesn’t  _ know  _ that this is dangerous. There is a  _ reason _ most teenage hookers on forums caution against not having a pimp (though Yusaku suspects part of this is just good business sense from the pimp’s side) or at least a partner,  _ someone _ to tell where you are going and with whom.

But aside from the fact that Yusaku doesn’t even  _ have _ anyone like that, he doesn’t really want to tell. A feeling of shame might not have set in, but even  _ thinking  _ about having to explain, to justify himself seems like such a hassle. 

Client - It’s a more discreet wording, since he learned quickly that the people who fuck him don’t like to be called something as common as  _ John.  _ It doesn’t feel right to him, since he doesn’t do it for the money. But this is another thing he doesn’t care to explain and the thing in his chest must be what  _ freedom _ feels like, because the amazing thing is - he doesn’t have to.

Because another advantage of this whole thing he’s discovered, is that all normal rules of human connections - which he’s painstakingly tried to re-learn, all the endless, draining, gruelling rules of small talk and social niceties - don’t apply here.

For once what he wants out of a social interaction doesn’t depend on how well he can fake being fine, being  _ normal _ . These men want to fuck someone young and pliable, someone they can tell how to be and who they wouldn’t get to touch otherwise. He wants to be fucked so deep and so hard that he can stop thinking. 

As long as he does what is required of him, goes through the correct motions, lets himself be moved and touched, sinks into hands on skin, breath on his neck, the voices telling him how  _ good,  _ how  _ beautiful _ , how  _ soft _ \- he gets what he needs. Easy.

_ “It’s only - you’re clearly not very experienced and….you seem so - “ _

He shakes his head, trying to banish the voice that’s invaded his thoughts for the last week. It was a mistake, he should have  _ known _ it would be a mistake to use one of the phone numbers

Normally he threw them away immediately. But with him it had been so _relaxing_. He only had to lie there, hands above his head, blindfold on and the only thing he had to do that entire time was to say his name, over and over again, _Jun please, Jun yes, more, good,_ _Jun, Jun, Jun._

No excessive moving, no being on top or standing up or - memorably - squashed against a window. The man stopped when he tried to move or tensed up so he was allowed to just - let it happen.

So he took the card and then he was so  _ tired.  _ He’d left it for longer than usual, because his very first therapist was in town, the one who had sat with him during the night, the one who sang the saddest songs that somehow managed to reach him their sadness not the same, but  _ familiar _ . She wanted to meet him, to  _ see how he was _ and her he couldn’t refuse.

He needed it, needed to sleep after that, but the thought of dressing up, of walking the streets, ending up with someone who would want him to  _ perform _ \- he hadn’t cried in years, but the feeling came close. And then he remembered him,  _ Jun _ and it seemed like the best solution.

But then he’d still been there when he woke up. He hadn’t known how to feel about it at first, but really the clients paid for the room, it wasn’t his business, if they wanted to watch him sleep. What did it matter, he’d paid for the privilege, he might as well get his money’s worth.

He had gotten up and felt the man’s eyes on him when he collected his clothes and that was - It was fine. It didn’t matter, he just didn’t understand what could really be all that interesting about his bones and flesh for someone who had spent an hour mapping it with hands, tongue, breath. 

But then he’d started  _ talking _ . Asking for his name, his age, what he liked doing, all those safe conversational gambits that felt so very out of place in this safe bubble Yusaku thought he’d found where he didn’t have to deal with them. And when that didn’t work, crashed against his silence, him not playing along with this script he had dully followed for years (because  _ no,  _ this wasn’t the  _ deal _ , this wasn’t supposed to happen here), he started just saying things.

Things like  _ being worried _ about him out there, unprotected (from people like you, Yusaku didn’t say). That if he needed the money so badly (I don’t, Yusaku didn’t say), that  _ he  _ could help, that he could take care of him.

He’d tried to finish everything up as fast as he could, that feeling of helplessness,  _ being trapped _ rising up high, high at every monosyllabic answer he could squeeze past his throat. He needed  _ out _ , he needed to be  _ gone _ . 

He thinks he might have shoved him so hard that he cracked something, but when the hand had closed on his wrist before he could open the door, the only thought in his head was ‘not again’, animal-panic at the realisation that this room had a lock and he wasn’t the one with the key.

It hadn’t been locked in the end, and anyway he wasn’t a child anymore, it hadn’t been an abandoned warehouse in the middle of the woods, but a highly frequented love hotel with staff and cameras. It had been an overreaction (one). It had been stupid (two). He’d never been in any danger (three). A day later he was fine.

The touch hadn’t mattered, but the words, the words lingered.

He doesn’t want to need it again so soon, but there is an exam period and it’s not like he thought he would fail (sleepless nights, as it turns out, are extremely conducive to studying, though it left him rather helpless when his classmates tentatively asked him for suggestions on how to retain the material), but he also doesn’t want to pass with too high marks. Too much attention.

It’s not the first time someone who would not care being called a  _ john _ approaches him. He’d just at up to that point, refused them. It seemed less safe somehow (one), less comfortable (two), unproven that it would give him what he needed (three).

This time though when a man comes up to him and indicates the closest dark alleyway, the only thought in his mind is that there are no doors.

It’s as good a reason as any, Yusaku thinks. If it doesn’t get him what he needs, he’ll know at least.

So he gives a small nod, leads the way, down a grouping of old furniture, into the dark back part of it, a mesh fence making it a one way street, with no foot traffic likely to disturb them.

There is a tiny moment there, when he approaches Yusaku, where he realises the sheer  _ size _ of him, not much taller, but twice as wide. 

“Prize?” he’s asked. The man’s voice is businesslike, but not unkind and he calms down.

“10.000.”, he says, a random number. He realises that up till now he has been paid much more than street value, treated like a valuable prize more than a simple commodity. He can’t say he dislikes this though. It feels even less complicated, more honest.

The man just grunts and hands over a few crumpled notes, so he must have not been too far off the standard fare. Yusaku counts them, because that’s what you do, probably. 

For a second he’s concerned that he’s supposed to …  _ do  _ something here, to show some initiative, to be seductive, playful. 

“Don’t be nervous,” he says absently, “I don’t want anything special and I got protection.” 

Yusaku sees a flash of a condom and lube, before he’s turned around, pressed slightly down, so he instinctively clenches his hands into the mesh fence. There is a pleased groan from behind him and he relaxes, because this - this he can certainly do.

He unwinds one of his hands to open his jeans, which is apparently enough, since they are janked down sharply a second later. He puts his hand back and tries to brace himself - this was going to be sharp and quick and he’s definitely responsible for keeping his face out of the meshing. 

The finger enters him slightly wet, perfunctory. He grunts, squirming a bit trying to adjust, before a second one suddenly joins it, much quicker than he’s used to. He bites his lip, his hands tensing. Clearly this is going to be different, he knew this. It’s fine.

The third one is less of a shock, if more painful. This man clearly thinks he’s a  _ lot _ more used to this kind of thing than he really is, which -  He’s probably getting a lot more consideration than most whores (one). He doesn’t need someone to  _ care _ about him, that was the  _ point  _ of this (two). How would he even explain (three). 

So he doesn’t say anything, even when he feels the size of him on the small on his back, the man groaning, sliding his dick back and forth between his ass checks. Tries simply not to clench up more in preparation, tries to breathe deep and evenly, head down, hands clenched so hard into the fencing they must be turning white.

He’s entered in one slow, unrelenting push, while a hand buries itself in his hair and yanks back  _ hard _ . It’s good, because that way the noise of pain that escapes him for a moment isn’t out of line, it’s understandable.

He seals his mouth shut on the next thrust, traps as much noise behind his teeth as he can, the only audible thing a high pitched whine deep in his throat that probably (hopefully) sounds sexy instead of pained. It must work, because the man groans deeply, and the hand in his hair becomes even tighter, exposing the long line of his throat, so that teeth can descend on it.

It’s not particularly rough even, but every movement sends fire up his body, the pain unrelenting, dull, spreading through him, till he’s shaking. When he starts sagging, his knees weak, his head is released so both hands can dig into his hips and help holding him up.

His head falls between his shoulders, as if his strings were cut. He’s panting now, can’t help it. Bright sparks of pleasure have started to mix with the pain and he could weep when he feels the first stirrings of his dick, the familiar act together with the right stimulation at the slight shift in position alleviating some of the agony.

It seems to go on forever, but it’s probably really only a few minutes before he feels the thrust speeding up, and a brighter spot of pain joining the cacophony. He doesn’t even think of using one of his hands to touch himself, the only thing keeping him from being shoved face first into the fence by the powerful thrusts, even though he suspects the pleasure could drown out the pain at least a bit.

A sob escapes him when he feels a hand closing around him roughly jerking him in time with the now short and quick thrust, before it all stills, the dick inside of him twitching, even that tiny movement dully painful, before it dissolves into a blinding rush of pleasure.

He thinks he’s awake for the moments after, clearly enough that he pulls his own pants up, that he makes the right noises, the right movements for the man to leave him right there.

He only really comes aware about 30 minutes later, curled on the alley floor, shivering. He tries to get up but the pain shooting up his back is sharp, unfamiliar,  _ frightening _ . He gets his jeans off a bit and sees blood staining his underwear.

He manages to calm his breathing, drags himself to the old mattress he’d kind of noticed on lying next to the pile of furniture. He lays down on his side, breathes through it. He gets his phone out and spends the next hour googling things, like ‘anal tearing’ to decide if he needs to go to a hospital. 

It’s not that bad an hour later so he decides that he doesn’t, though he uses the crumpled notes to get a cab home, since limping all the way would surely only draw unwanted attention to him.

He’s still got some good pain meds at home which he swallows dry. He falls asleep easily, on his side, so it’s not a complete loss, even if this means he’s missing school for the second time since this began.

 

\-------------------

 

He learns from it, at least. It wasn’t the worst experience he could have had (and definitely not the worst he  _ did  _ have) and it only took a week for him to sit down without wincing. But it’s also not one he particularly wants to repeat.

He first tries to simply convince himself that even though the rooms he goes into lock, nothing will  _ happen _ , but unfortunately the low humming of anxiety keeps him from truly falling asleep, which really defeats the purpose of the whole exercise. 

In the end, teaching himself how to pick a lock and always keeping one in the nest that is his hair does the trick, along with reading up excessively on the different surveillance systems common in most love hotels. He tries picking them himself from then on, the one bit of initiative he shows, so he can select ones he has vetted beforehand. 

It has the added benefit of making some of his clients even more antsy to get their hands on him, resulting in less work he actually has to  _ do _ as if this bit of display of seeming eagerness from him is either enough to satisfy or awakens a need to dominate him more completely. Either way, it all ends in a net positive for him. 

He has a good rhythm going of an appointment of roughly every 2-3 weeks, repeat customers only as exceptions and with the clear understanding he would not be  _ kept _ or  _ taken care of _ , nothing beyond what is agreed on for one evening (and from some of the disappointed looks, and small sighs, he realises he acted correctly making this clear in advance) when something new happens. 

The very first thing he notices is that the hotel he is called to isn’t in the love hotel district - in fact it doesn’t appear to be a love hotel at all. Minawa had said something about it being a special occasion, a  _ party, _ but Yusaku hadn’t felt the need to ask for more details.

He thinks about bailing on this for a moment, but he actually knows his client of the night - he’s been respectful of Yusaku’s boundaries till now and a very good fuck. Maybe he deserves the benefit of the doubt.

He doubts something shows on his face (a very  _ common _ complaint after all), but Minawa must notice something about his posture being off, when he approaches him. He starts rambling almost immediately (Minawa adores to  _ talk _ which is another reason Yusaku likes him - verbal input from him is normally not required). 

He tells him not to be nervous, apologizes for not explaining earlier, really what was he thinking. Yusaku just bites down the  _ you didn’t want me to refuse _ . There are so many lies these men tell themselves, but he doesn’t care enough to confront them about it. 

So he lets himself be guided into the lobby, handed a drink he doesn’t touch and listens. Minawa seems wired,  _ exuberant _ , jumpy. Clearly he was getting ready to explain even without Yusaku having to ask him anything about what is going on.

What it boils down to is that apparently when Minawa said it would be a party, he did mean  _ party.  _ Only Yusaku isn’t invited as the guest, but as part of the entertainment. Minawa uses many words to say that he doesn’t mind if Yusaku refuses, that really the most important part is that he’s comfortable.

It’s clear though, how excited he is about this, about  _ showing Yusaku off _ . As far as he can gather from the explanation, this party is  _ exclusive _ with only the rich and powerful invited. Minawa has clearly only just made the cut, but with Yusaku he seems to believe he finally has a chance to one-up the competition by providing the best, the prettiest of all the toys to be enjoyed, the most beautiful forbidden fruit.

This is the moment where Yusaku should refuse. Clearly going into a room with multiple strangers who would fuck him, while in other rooms other boys were getting fucked just the same - this is where he should draw the line. Being put on display and consumed, something expensive and exotic, served to rich men with peculiar appetites. This should frighten him, disgust him,  _ scare  _ him.

Mostly he’s a bit annoyed, because he  _ planned  _ for this. There was another exam period coming up, followed by a mandatory  _ class trip _ . Refusing would have drawn too much attention, everyone his age excited to go, to celebrate this last year in middle school. Only he suspects not a lot of sleeping would actually get done.

So he called Minawa, who was safe, pleasant enough and tended to fuck him in a way guaranteed to let him sleep for well nearly 8 hours without Yusaku having to do much of anything beside lie there. The most unpleasant thing that had ever happened was a bit of a sore jaw from the ballgag. 

So he cuts Minawa off. “What would I need to do?”


	2. I've been told I redefine desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ....it's the sex party y'all
> 
> (please note the updated tags, though maybe its also a list of incentives WHO KNOWS)

What he needs to do, apparently, is let himself be strapped into a sex swing, and be put into a mask. Because this is a _sex masquerade party_. He can’t quite help rolling his eyes at the whole thing, but he obediently puts on the black and red mask they hand him, after he steps out of the bathroom. It looks like it should be soft, every detail of it crafted to look delicate and malleable, and yet his hands reach for cold metal. It seems fitting somehow.

He catches glimpses of the other men and women who were brought here as part of the _entertainment,_ but the staff (he can’t believe this party has designated _staff members_ seriously) are quite careful in keeping them apart. Someone disinterestedly hands him something from the untouched buffet and tells him vaguely about keeping up his strength.

Most of the guests don’t seem to be here yet - or at least he assumes though. Yusaku isn’t an _expert_ at parties, this or any other kind, but judging by the amount of food and the size of the suite they at least are expecting quite a crowd. The decor is tasteful, clearly chosen to impress, like everything else.

Yusaku doesn’t really see how any of this is going to help anyone do better in business - he wouldn’t consider the people who thought up whole thing as particularly competent at anything - except maybe being able to throw a big event.

Whatever, it’s not like this is his problem and it seemed to have worked before, because the staff seem to be too experienced, too blase for this to be the first time. The room is filling up as they set him up and the effect of the black straps on his white naked skin, combined with the mask on his face seems to be _definitely_ working. He hears some gasps, excited murmurs, can see more people drifting into the room he’s just been paraded in.

He doesn’t know it that’s the reason or just part of this whole thing, but his set up is a _production_. A few staff members in sleek, understated mask help him up into the swing. Then every strap is fastened after the other, with touches that seem perfunctory to him, but must look more sensual from the outside, because he can see several men adjusting themselves out of the corner of his eye, some of the women fanning themselves.

When he’s completely secured he surreptitiously tests the bonds and finds that he’s basically immobile aside from hanging in the air. He squashes the bit of panic, and clenches his hand briefly on the one string right next to it, a staff member had pressed into his hand under the cover of testing the buckles.

He’d been briefed in the luxurious bathroom he was ushered into when entering the suite with Minawa by the woman who he assumes is the organizer. She’d send him away and explained everything in a dispassionate, businesslike tone while her employees got him ready for the big event.

So he knows that this is his secure line, that would loosen enough of his bonds so he could get out if he wished to. It’s also why he’s not surprised when a finger enters him, shortly followed by a second and finally something a bit cold and made of silicone. There is a black tassel inset with tiny sparkling green stones at the end of it.

“Suits your eyes.” she’d said with a wry look, when he’d wordlessly pointed at the most ridiculous one in the collection when asked to _choose_.

“It’s not like _they_ will notice.” he’d replied and she’d left with a chuckle and a _you’ll be alright kid._ The effect seems to not be stifled laughter as he’d have reacted, but instead a hushed whispers and several deep sighs.

He can’t say he can see the appeal, has never understood why so many men were so ready to spend a fortune on him. It seems to be something only he can’t grasp, since he can feel the gazes of everyone passing him lingering, the scratch of the pen on the bidding sheet set up on a tasteful side table behind him never seeming to seize.

It’s not cold in the room and he’s certainly strapped into a high quality swing because he’s not uncomfortable, even the plug just becoming background noise. Which also means he doesn’t have anything to do, so he listens in to the guests talking. It slightly amuses him how all these apparently savvy business people seem to think that just because he’s here to be fucked means he doesn’t have _ears_. (huh so Starsign Inc. is readying for a take-over, seems that new chip they were developing is working out for them)

For all that this is what Minawa called a _business opportunity_ the guests discuss the various slabs of meat on display just as much as industrial espionage. I mean they call it _entertainment_ and _pieces of art_ , but Yusaku knows the score. A lot of the patrons do seem to favour him, which remains a mystery to him, but whatever. He doesn’t need to care.

After some time his attention drifts and he’s just relaxing into the bonds around him, barely even noticing the plug. he’s feeling a bit drowsy, _removed_ . He’s not been anxious, but he’s seems to have entered a state where he’s not even bothered too much by _how long_ this seems to be taking, when are they going to get to the _important_ part. He’s vaguely concerned about what would happen if he _did_ fall asleep here only to wake up from a nightmare, when the light finally dims.

This seems to be the universal sign that the part of the evening is about to start that everyone actually came for, because there is some rustling of clothes as well as the staff discreetly carrying in supplies as well as moving the furniture so that the chairs and couches tucked discreetly out of the way for the food part of the evening are placed more _strategically_.

Minawa comes up to him for only the second time of the evening. He saw him getting settled in, but he’s been all over the place, presumably schmoozing and talking up Yusaku’s charms. Yusaku wonders if he’s actually bought the privilege of getting first dibs, but that seems a strange strategy for someone who wants to get connections with the help of Yusaku’s body.

Instead Minawa comes up to his head and cradles the back of Yusaku’s head, asking him if he’s alright, if he’s sure, if he’s scared. Yusaku closes his eyes so Minawa can’t see him rolling them. He just stays quiet, complacent and relaxed so that seems to be answer enough for Minawa who holds a bottle of water to his mouth telling him that he needs to stay hydrated which is fair, Yusaku supposes.

The actual man approaching him from the right side is a lot broader than Minawa, with a slight beer pouch and a mask that looks like a peacock exploded on it. Yusaku bites his lip, because this really is just so ridiculous. These people know who they are, they all know that everyone they brought in to fuck is too young, too desperate, too _something_ and yet they continue this charade.

Whatever, Yusaku doesn’t care about that, he cares about the finger moving his bound legs apart, warm and sticky. They’ve got an audience which provides the sighs and moans normally required of him, so he just closes his eyes and relaxes into the stretch. Peacock man is taking his time, moving the plug back and forth. Playing it up for the people watching.

Yusaku doesn’t really get making a production of what is a rather basic act, but this time at least he gets that the production is the _point_ for a lot of the people here. Presumably not everyone is going to get a turn, so the appeal, the thrill must also be in the show, the taste of something forbidden in half-darkness, removed from reality.

Maybe he’s being infected by the atmosphere since he’s feeling... _strange_ , mind floating and yet fully anchored in his body, every sensation weirdly heightened. It’s unfamiliar. It should frighten him, his body trying to move into the sensation of another person’s hand on his chest without his permission. He’s used to only really getting lost in sensation at the end, having to play up any overt enjoyment before that, if he bothers at all. But suddenly from one moment to the next he’s hot, his skin is prickling, he _wants._

Part of his mind wonders if he should panic, but the reality is: nothing concerns him aside from the _anticipation_ . He surprises himself with a small heartfelt moan when the plug is finally removed and replaced with two fingers, three the stretch a relief and yet not _enough_ , he can feel himself struggling a bit against the bonds trying to get _closer_.

He can hear chuckles and feels more hands closing in, stroking through his hair, touching his sides, tweaking his nipples, soft shushing sounds coming from somewhere, high and low voices telling him to relax, that he they are going to take care of him. The only thing the touches do is make him want _more_. He throws his head back as much as he can, staring sightlessly ahead, his dick a throbbing weight on his stomach, the fingers inside him still only moving slowly, slowly back and forth.

He doesn’t know what peacock is waiting for, what _they_ are waiting for. He hopes it’s not for him to beg, because even like this, even with his body _burning_ with want, need in a way he’s never known before, his mind keeps any words trapped behind his teeth, he refuses to give this to these _strangers._

Either he finally gives them what they were waiting for (tiny groans and whines are escaping him at every touch, he can’t suppress the loud moan when someone _twists_ his nipple) or the man and his onlookers decided that, they too, can’t wait anymore. Whatever it is, the fingers leave him and he's entered in one smooth thrust.

It makes him shiver all over, try to throw back his head, writhe against the bonds. It's never been like this before, never _felt_ like this and a tiny part of him is sounding the alarm, because it is weird and uncomfortable, this loss of control.

But he can't concentrate as someone pulls his head back to kiss him, deep and thorough, just as the man inside him starts moving, strong thrusts that would have thrown him backwards if not for the many hands on him gentle,soothing, _proprietary_ . All misgivings he has disappear, because it just feels so _good,_ his whole body _alive_ , his focus on the pleasure coursing through his body and no other thoughts intruding.

He feels every movement on him, _in him_ at once, it's almost too much, _too good_ . Peacock man has a big dick and his thrusts hit _deep,_ it's like he can feel it in his throat. Every muscle in him seizes up when he changes his angle and hits the right spot, the pleasure overwhelming.

He lets out a whine deep in his throat, muffled by whoever is plundering his mouth now, head held immobile. His body is _on fire_ he can't even concentrate enough to kiss back, can't do anything but moan and whine pathetically, the pace of the thrusts unhurried but _precise,_ hitting his prostate nearly every time. It seems to be enough for the onlookers however, as he can hear more moans, more rustling, his eyes catching the furtive movements of someone masturbating on one of the couches.

For all the touching happening everyone has been avoiding the place where he _needs_ it, his dick painful and throbbing leaking pre-come steadily. Even the tiny bit of simulation provided by him moving back and forth is enough to drive him insane, he _wants to come._

He wants it, wants it, _needs it_ and it could be frightening, if he thought about it, but he doesn't care, can't care. He thinks he might lose his mind if someone doesn't touch him soon, but even though he's trying to move his hips,trying to move into it, the only things he gets are ghosting touches. He’s unable to move away from the sensations, but also not able to get _closer,_ another impulse foreign to him.

He doesn't understand how he's not just coming untouched, he's been so close, close, close for what feels like an eternity, every sensation heightened. He nearly _screams_ when someone breathes hotly on him and that scream becomes a strangled sob, when he feels a small hand gently close around the base of his dick and stopping him from coming.

It seems to go on forever, he can't stop, shivering, shaking, the moment stretches, the man above him still thrusting inside him, every movement against his prostate sending another spark of sensation down his spine, the intensity enough to bring tears to his eyes. Some part of him is surprised that he can still do that, has long considered himself incapable, but it's soon drowned out by the man inside him speeding up, hitting that spot in a staccato rhythm.

He thought he was as close as you can get without passing out, but he was wrong. He's panting, tiny electric impulses shooting all through his body, making his muscles jump. He can hear the most desperate _ah ah ah_ sounds and it takes him a moment till he realises they are coming from him.

The man inside him suddenly leans over, invading his mouth in time with his thrusts. It sends a blinding rush of pleasure through him and he thinks he blacks out for a second, when the hand around his dick leaves him and he’s finally coming, the rush of pleasure so strong that he blacks out for a second.

He comes back to himself when the man inside gives a few last hard thrusts before he empties himself inside Yusaku, the feeling of something hot flooding him unfamiliar, sending another pulse of pleasure down his spine.

The man pulls out and gives him an indulgent smile leaves a last lingering kiss on the inside of his thighs and a lick where he's wet and open and then steps back. Yusaku is still trying to catch his breath and collect his scattered thoughts after one of the most intense orgasms he’s ever had. He can feel himself sagging even more into the straps around his limbs, so close to falling asleep, even though he realises that that wouldn’t be the _best_ idea.

He falls into a doze nonetheless, observing the people moving around him lazily through half-closed eyes. He wonders what he looks like, so obviously debauched, he can feel the seed sluggishly running down his thigh. Whatever picture he presents, it must be tempting to this crowd: there is rarely a moment someone _isn’t_ touching him, absent hands stroking through his hair, touching his side, ghosting over where he’s still open.

He’s normally not the type to encourage too much touching without a goal, but he’s feeling relaxed right now in a way he’s rarely experienced, truly present in only the moment and his body. It makes him feel...charitable towards these people. So he leans slightly into the touches, accepts the pieces of food some are feeding him, closes his eyes and smiles slightly when random men come up to him, to tell him how beautiful, how special, how _rare_ he is - a proud and indulgent owner, praising his pampered, expensive pet.

He’s falling in somewhat of a daze when he feels another hand in his hair, testing his range of movement, and the straps holding him up. The impersonal touch makes him suspect that it’s in fact not one of the wealthy patrons, but a staff member.

He opens his eyes to see the organizer staring down at him dispassionately.

“Time for round 2?” he says and is surprised all over again at how weak his voice sound, the question coming out in a scratchy whisper. She snorts and then seems to hesitate for a bit, before calling one of the staff members with a tablet of drinks over, despite the fact that Yusaku can see a water bottle at her feet.

“You want a whiskey?.” she asks him, while looking over the selection in front of her.

“I'm not old enough.” he replies dryly and that actually makes her laugh out loud. It attracts the attention of some people close to them, but Yusaku doesn't give a shit, a weird feeling of triumph coming over him.

“Of course you aren't.” she says, giving him an amused look, before something flits over her face, some decision being made that Yusaku isn't privy to.

“Don't go anywhere, hot stuff.” she throws over he shoulder, leaving the room at a fast clip the water bottle from before in her hand.

She comes back a moment later with a seemingly identical bottle, only this one is bright red. He doesn't really think about it, just accepts the water gratefully, because he's sure he wasn't that far off with his second round comment, an atmosphere of anticipation enveloping the room.

It doesn't sweep him up this time, apparently he got used to it. That might also be why he notices the man stood slightly apart, studying him.

He's around 40, good-looking, but not unreasonably attractive. He's wearing a simple suit that Yusaku suspects is tailored by virtue of the man being here.  There is nothing special about his appearance, but he still catches his eye, because he's simply the only one as far as Yusaku can tell who still looks as well put together as most of the guests at the beginning of the party.

That and there is just something about his _presence_. He's watching Yusaku intently,a wondering look in his eye. When he sees Yusaku looking back, he doesn't avert his eye or come closer like the other guests - he simply raises his eyebrows and then gives Yusaku a slow appreciative once over only to raise his drink and give him a wink.

It's amusing, somewhat. This man at least isn't being weird or coquettish or seems to think him looking back means anything but that he's bored and has a limited range of vision.

So he raises his eyebrows right back and wiggles his fingers a bit, as much movement as he's able. The man chuckles and seems - delighted? That seems to be it, the man curiously easy to read, even for Yusaku. He's interrupted from looking at Yusaku by someone coming up to him and - bowing and scraping, if he’s seeing this right.

He thinks that's the end of it, when they start walking in his direction, so he hears them when they pass close to him.

“I promise you, Shinagawa-san all the precautions have been undertaken and you can _enjoy_ yourself here.”

“So you've said, Kitagawa-kun, and yet I find myself curiously uninspired to take part in this, mm, _bonding ritual.” Shinagawa_ replies. “Somehow, I don't think that showing my bare ass to all and sunder, is really going to let me help improve business.“ His dry tone makes Yusaku snort.

Kurogawa? Shitazawa? sends him a scandalised look because how dare Yusaku remind him that he's not in fact naked furniture.

But Shinagawa smiles at him, all teeth and says “Quite.” before walking purposefully out of the room with a final wave. He doesn’t crane his head to follow him, but the interaction still leaves him with a small involuntary smile.

 

Round two is two people - a severe looking woman, nearly fully clothed, aside from the black strap on proudly displayed. Yusaku is slightly surprised that not only did she apparently have enough pull to get second place, but that her standing is going to improve from this - from what he’s seen the women have mostly been passive, not as ready to expose themselves as their male counterparts.

But then it’s not like she’s showing any real skin, so Yusaku supposes she does follow the trend. He’s not as used to women fucking him, but it does not really matter. The man with her positions himself at his head, his dick already fully hard, leaving trails of sticky precome on his cheeks, the edges of his mask.

He opens his mouth obediently when he’s prompted and whatever those two do normally, they appear to work well together - every thrust from the woman pushes him farther onto the dick in his mouth. She’s precise and merciless - if he hadn’t trained away his gag reflex somewhat he would be screwed.

The dildo inside of him is slightly larger still than peacock, stretching him out even more and the silikone is hard and unyielding. It’s not as overwhelming as before, but it is _good_ , the stretch, the places where her long fingernails _bite_ into his skin, her clothes rubbing the sensitive skin of his thighs.

There is just something about a bit of pain that heightens the feelings, that force him to be present in his body, to really _feel_ it, that he enjoys, so that he can’t help his loud whine around the cock in his mouth, when the women speeds up and it feels like she draws blood.

He’s not that desperate yet, still mellow from before, so the stimulation is not enough to make him come untouched, even when both of them speed up in perfect sync, the man coming down his throat and the woman still inside him.

It’s fine though, as this time it really seems that there _is_ a line - the dildo barely leaves him before there is another dick inside of him, the rhythm immediately quick and punishing.

Things blur together after this. There seems to be someone touching him at all times, pushing into him, one orgasm chasing the next. He loses track of time, though he sometimes catches glimpses of Shinagawa on the outskirts, watching him, talking to the manager.

He’s only half there when the ball gag is put in his mouth (surprisingly nice actually, the pressure makes him _tingle_ ) and the rotor inside him. _That_ wakes him up quick enough, the vibration directly on his prostate nearly too much, sending shockwaves through him. He finally passes out when a dick forces itself inside together with two of the eggs.

He doesn’t notice being taken down, swims to the surface enough that he thinks he can hear someone’s low voice discussing him.

“I’m going to make sure the young man is going to get home safe, you have my word.”

A snort “And how much is that going to be worth, when you’re next in line?”

“Misa-chan, you know me better than that.”

“Exactly.” a deep sigh, something that feels like a soft touch on his head. “ _Fine_ , at least you are still here, unlike that other one. With you, at least I know he’s going to get some better payment out of it.”

He loses the voices after that and the next thing he knows he’s moving, being surrounded  by the softest fabric he’s ever felt.

He would believe it was all his imagination, but he wakes up the next day (at 1pm!) in his bed, with a blanket on top of him, painkillers and a water bottle on his side table holding down a piece of paper with a phone number and a name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter should be out in the next two weeks including one of my favourite aspects of this - finally a good sugar d*ddy


	3. 4am knows all my secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [looks at update date] uhhh yeah sorry it took so long and now this monster of a chapter only contains like 10% porn, I apologize
> 
> *massive* thanks again to my beta and forever cheerleader [redacted] - this fic would not exist without you.
> 
> Also thanks to you, intrepid reader for going with me on this ride, despite the dicey subject matter and sadness all around, you rock and I hope you'll enjoy this chapter feat. actual Sugar D*ddy Shinagawa

From that day on the  _ gifts  _ arrive. Yusaku doesn’t really know what he should do about that. At most, it gives him final confirmation that Shinagawa does know his address now and that he’s presumably waiting for him to call, but otherwise? It’s a bit of a mystery.

Not only does it seem weird that someone like Shinagawa – who is clearly important and who didn’t seem to be too interested in all the going-ons at the party – would even be that set on a random prostitute.

The gift themselves are…. _ strange _ . It’s not like clients haven’t tried to give him gifts before on top of the money (though before now, none of them knew his name and address so they couldn’t actually  _ send _ them). But they were all useless garbage - flowers and chocolates and memorably that one time a client wanted to give him a  _ car _ . 

But this time? Its books - a wide variety on coding, strategy, business, but also fantasy and  _ romance novels. _ A venomous plant. A cleaning robot (not even with any spyware installed - he checks). Sometimes just little notes wishing him a good day. Quotes. Really fucking bad jokes. A picture of  _ cat _ \- no note, no explanation, just a black cat with white asymmetrical dots. It’s cute, but if there is a hidden meaning, he doesn’t get it.

There doesn’t seem to be rhyme or reason to them - sometimes half a week will pass without anything, one time 3 gifts arrived in one day. Yusaku supposes he should feel violated,  _ seriously _ contemplates his feelings on the matter when he comes home from school and finds a new bag only a day after his old one finally ripped.

But what he feels instead is  _ curious _ . Because what is going  _ on _ , who  _ is _ this Shinagawa. He clearly is spending a  _ lot _ of time and effort on him, but what Yusaku can’t figure out is  _ why _ . He’s not calling him. He’s not even been  _ around _ him and Yusaku even went to the trouble to hack into his calendar and the security cameras around his firm to check.

He can’t be the only teenage prostitute around, Shinagawa didn’t even  _ fuck _ him so couldn’t get  _ addicted to the taste of him –  _ as one particularly clingy client once tried to convince him could happen. As an experiment he takes some clients; some long standing, some new, just to see what - if anything - happens. (Nothing does, though he does notice that Misawa’s phone number seems to have disappeared from his burner phone that he keeps for client contacts, but it’s not a huge loss)

And yet. The gifts keep coming. And they keep being...weird and unexpected and  _ interesting _ , so much so that Yusaku even keeps some of them (the romance novel was weirdly relaxing and helped him get back to sleep one time. Plus his classmates faces when it fell out of his bag were kind of hilarious). 

It comes to a head when he opens his door to a man handing him an honest-to-god  _ telegram _ (on the thick, expensive paper all the notes come on. He keeps touching it, because there is just something to its texture that intrigues him) with the line: ‘ _ I appreciate this whole seduction thing you've got going on here, but let me give you a tip: I'm a sure thing.’ _

He doesn’t know why it’s this and not any of the other gifts - not the book entitled ‘Burning Passion’ or the bowtie made out of silk or the line about his teacher’s mustache - that makes him pick up his phone and type out:  _ shouldn’t that be my line?  _ (He’s input the number a couple of weeks ago. Maybe he knew he would cave).

He doesn’t get an answer immediately, but half an hour later his phone lights up:

_ Are you?  _ The snort gets stuck in his throat when he realises he...doesn’t really know. He’s letting men and women fuck him for money, so probably by definition he would qualify as easy, a sure thing.

But he’s not doing it for all the usual reasons, so it’s not  _ quite _ as simple as that, he supposes. If he doesn’t want to - for whatever reason - he has enough choice, enough  _ freedom _ , to say no.

It’s an interesting question, just as everything about their interaction has been interesting and it’s honestly been a while since he thought that about a living human being, so maybe this one he should actually explore, even though he’s still unsure how this dynamic, this  _ wooing _ , this intrusion into his life is making him feel.

He’s pretty sure that he’s losing in some way at this game he’s almost convinced he’s somehow started playing when he types  _ You wanna meet up? _ . He specialises at victories on the verge of defeat, though, so he’s confident.

* * *

He nearly calls off this entire thing, pretty much the very second he receives the invitation? summons? to dinner. But since his  _ why _ was only met with a cryptic  _ business is always best discussed in a neutral location, no?  _ he finds himself here.

Maybe it  _ would  _ be a good idea to vet these people, especially if there are as successful and rich as Shinagawa seems to be (one). Yusaku had always felt himself rather secure in the knowledge that if he was committing a crime - so were his clients and  _ they _ would weather the hit to their reputation much worse than Yusaku, who after all would be seen as the “victim”.

But Shinagawa - something is different about him, had been different since he first saw him, and maybe it would do good to exercise caution until he can ascertain if it’s a good different or bad different, before being in a room alone with him (two).

And above all of this he’s just  _ curious _ (three). Not so much that it occupies his every waking moment or even bothers him. But it’s been so long since he was genuinely  _ curious _ , since he genuinely wanted to  _ know  _ about a person. It feels almost like having a purpose again, like living and not subsisting. So he came.

He’s still thinking about cancelling, however, uncomfortably wearing the suit Shinagawa had sent over  _ because they won't let you in otherwise, my dear  _ and staring at the upscale French restaurant in front of him. This was...a bit much, a bit too close to the sort of relationship he’d always tried to avoid.

Additionally, he’s for some reason only just now realising that he’s doomed himself to a dinner-length time of conversation. It’s not that he necessarily hates talking as such, he just...it’s exhausting, all these rules, all the restrictions, all the half-truths and social niceties. 

Every time he does talk, people either get offended or want him to talk about his feelings, making him explain his reasons, when they are his alone. They are the one thing no one ever has a right to. So he’s unsure how to play this. Sullen silence seems like a good bet, but he has a feeling it wouldn’t work with Shinagawa. Before he can truly make up his mind, a voice calls his name.

“Yusaku, you look  _ splendid _ .” Shinagawa says, sounding delighted, but also  _ amused _ . It makes Yusaku feel a bit cornered, a bit mulish. So he turns around, looks at the man coming up to him and makes a snap decision:   _ Shinagawa  _ wanted to spend more time with him? Then he’d just have to deal with  _ him _ . Yusaku has nothing to lose.

“You look normal.” he ends up saying, because he  _ does _ . Shinagawa is probably what he’d imagine if someone were to say ‘management of a company’. Though there is still something about him that draws the eye, that had made Yusaku respond to him the first time. But it’s nothing he could name, nothing he could put into words, so  _ normal _ is what he goes with.

Instead of being offended, Shinagawa just laughs. “I see this is going to be an entertaining evening.” he says and  _ winks _ . Yusaku has….nothing to say to that, so he doesn’t. It doesn’t seem to make a difference to his companion though. Suddenly, he’s right next to Yusaku and there is a hand on the middle of his back leading him inside.

The wait staff seem to know Shinagawa by the way they are fawning over him, all grand gestures and bowed backs. He takes it in stride, nice about it, but clearly expecting this sort of treatment. They are led to a table in the back, discreet. It’s still easily accessible, but nobody is going to get close to them by accident.

Yusaku is sitting down before he even realises he’s being seated by Shinagawa. It makes his head spin a bit, how easily he pulls people into his orbit. When he looks up, however, he notices that his seat has the clearest line to the exit. He relaxes immediately, but doesn’t miss the small satisfied smile on Shinagawa’s face at the reaction.

“Why.” he says, watching Shinagawa pick up the menu and seemingly peruse it with great interest. He suspects it’s a tactic, judging by the familiarity he comes here all the time and therefore most likely knows the menu at this point. He’s proven correct when he answers without looking up.

“Mhm, I did notice you frequently checking the doors at the engagement we first met. Even in moments where you had ample reason to be quite…. _ distracted _ .” Shinagawa answers. So he  _ did _ do it on purpose. Yusaku at least appreciates the honesty - he wouldn’t have bothered pressing him on it, if he’d played dumb.

“That’s not an explanation.” he counters.

“Isn’t it?” Shinagawa asks, looking up. Clearly his eyes are what gives him his presence despite the average appearance. His gaze is sharp, intelligent, rooting Yusaku to the spot, forcing him to hold eye contact. “I suppose your other  _ clients _ might not have been  _ overly concerned _ with your comfort, but I like to think I hold myself to higher standards.”

“Hire hookers often then.” Yusaku shoots back, more confrontational than usual. It’s not that he considers himself passive, but….there is a part of him that thinks you have to care about something to provoke, to be provoked. 

It surprises him that apparently he  _ does _ , at least a little, at least enough to try and see if he can get a rise out of this man in front of him. It’s like the gifts, like the dinner invitation - he’s simply curious what will happen next, can’t predict it.

Shinagawa doesn’t flinch away from the word - Yusaku didn’t think he  _ would _ , but he’s known clients who did, the word making it too real. He even flags down a waiter, letting the word  _ sit  _ between them. He orders drinks both of them, Yusaku’s blatantly non-alcoholic.

“Never actually.” he finally says, as if they hadn’t been interrupted. “And if this goes as I hope, I will continue this trend”

Yusaku raises an eyebrow at that. “You planning to flake out on paying?” Because he wouldn’t have pegged Shinagawa as someone like that at all. 

If he was subconsciously trying to get a reaction out of Shinagawa that’s not  _ amused _ (and he doesn’t know for certain that he wasn’t) it doesn’t work - he gives him a wide smile. 

“Oh, of course I wouldn’t” he says, a chuckle clearly trapped behind his teeth. It puts Yusaku on edge, just a bit, because he’s being baited, he can  _ tell _ , Shinagawa wants him to ask. It makes him want to be obstinate about this, even though normally it would be too much of a bother.

So he lets the silence sit again, waiting for him to explain. Shinagawa leans back in his chair and spends the time till their appetizers arrive, watching Yusaku,  _ observing _ . Anyone else Yusaku would think he’s trying to psyche him out, make him nervous, but somehow he knows that that would be a far too simple motivation for the man in front of him.

“It’s not about the money.” he says, when Yusaku has taken his first bite, as if they had never been interrupted. “For you, anyway”

It makes Yusaku freeze, the fork halfway to his mouth. “What.” he says, flatly.

“Oh, you don’t need to pretend with me, Yusaku-kun,” he says off-handedly, his attention half on his food, as if what he said wasn’t important. “It’s very obvious, after all.”

“Huh.” he says, because the truth is, it  _ is  _ obvious, in Yusaku’s opinion, and yet no one else has ever figured it out.

“You disagree?” Shinagawa says.

“No.” he answers, “but from your tone, you knew that already.”

It makes Shinagawa chuckle and for once it doesn’t look calculated.

“I did.” he says, “And yet you managed to surprise me.”

“You thought I wouldn’t figure it out?” Which would be disappointing.

“I thought you wouldn’t bother calling me on it.” Shinagawa counters before taking a sip of his wine and turning back to his food.

It gives Yusaku a chance to let this sink in. Which he supposes is the point. Shinagawa doesn’t seem like someone who does things without a purpose after all. He tries to decide how he feels about someone figuring him out so easily, so  _ quickly _ . They have, after all, barely interacted before, so for Shinagawa to determine his motives, predict his reactions seemingly without effort, is strange.

He doesn’t know if he’s feeling uncomfortable or intrigued or just  _ new _ . A feeling that isn’t a true connection, but that seems to come close, maybe. Being  _ seen _ .

“You should eat.” Shinagawa says, snapping his attention back to what he was doing. “I  _ think _ you will like it, but then as proven, you manage to surprise me.”

“Is that why I’m here?” he asks, while he takes the first bite of  _ whatever _ it is. It has a nice smooth texture and a subtle blend of flavours Yusaku doesn’t recognize. He likes it.

“Partly.” Shinagawa answers smoothly, not bothered by Yusaku’s bluntness or change of topic. It makes this conversation a lot less harrowing than he’d been dreading. 

“What are the other parts.” He doesn’t really care if that sounds like fishing for compliments, whatever Shinagawa answers will tell him more about what to expect.

“Ah, a good question indeed.” Shinagawa says with a wide smile. “I mean, your  _ assets  _ definitely played a part.” he continues, complete with eyebrow waggle. “But mostly there was just something about you that intrigued me. That made me - for lack of a better word - curious.”

“That’s vague.”

“Well, then tell me Yusaku-kun, why did you decide to come here today?” he shoots back with a smirk. And he can’t really say anything to that - _curious_ _and intrigued_ does sum it up nicely.

“So what do I get out of this then, if it’s not money.” Shinagawa takes the change of topic in stride - and by the amused slant of his mouth as the concession that it is.

“You tell me.” he says, unconcerned. 

“What do you think I want?” He doesn’t know why he’s complicating this. Maybe he doesn’t want to make it so easy Shinagawa, who is clearly used to getting his way (one). Maybe the thought of having to put into words the process he perfected already exhausts him (two). Or maybe it’s the dread settling deep into him at being asked  _ why _ by this man with the sharp eyes, who it’s useless to lie to (three).

“I’m not a  _ mind-reader _ , Yusaku-kun, though I am indeed extremely flattered that you would think so.”  He gives a small sign as he says it, and immediately several waiters are swapping their empty dishes with new ones and topping up his glass of water before vanishing as quickly as they came. It gives him a bit more time to consider his answer, which he supposes might have been the point? 

“While it was rather simple to figure out that you were not selling your body for money, it doesn’t change the fact that you  _ are  _ selling it for  _ something _ .” Shinagawa continues. “Therefore the question is – what  _ do _ you want?”

He doesn’t get him. Shinagawa has been considerate, amused, patient with him the whole evening, putting him consciously at ease and it - it unsettles him. Humans are often incomprehensible to him, but being able to know the motivation of whoever he’s interacting is one of the  _ definite _ draws of this whole arrangement. 

So to have this stripped away from him, here - it makes some part of him want to get up, leave behind this man who just looks at him quietly, apparently content to wait forever (or at least as long as this evening) for Yusaku’s answer. He stays though. It would feel too much like giving up. Plus, aside from the unsettling uncertainty, he’s not  _ hating _ this. He almost likes talking to Shinagawa. 

“Why do you want to know?” It must seem like another stalling tactic to Shinagawa, though he doesn’t let anything show on his face. He wants a real answer though, so he adds. “It’s not like you couldn’t  _ afford _ just paying me and you’d get what you want out of it. So, why this?”

Shinagawa’s face is serious now, his gaze contemplative. “Well, I would rather cut out the ‘middle-man’, as it were and just give you whatever you want directly. Seems more, mmm, efficient, don’t you think.”

“What if you don’t or can’t give me what I want?” Yusaku shoots back. Because it makes  _ sense _ , though he doesn’t know why he’d bother, since money is such an easier method. It would be too much bother for Yusaku, but who knows. Maybe Shinagawa doesn’t want sketchy expenses on his books.

“Well, in that case I can always go back to paying you.” Shinagawa shrugs artfully. “The most I’d lost would be this evening and really you’ve been entertaining enough for it to have been worth my time.”

Yusaku wonders if he should pretend to be flattered and embarrassed by the compliment, if Shinagawa is used to that sort of behaviour. He looks straight ahead at him instead, gives a acceding nod. The fire in Shinagawa’s eyes, banked until now, that suddenly flares up a bit a that, sends a tingle down his spine.

“ _ Delightful.”  _ he murmurs, before he goes on. “Additionally, how do you know what  _ I _ want, to be so confident I can just buy it with money?” 

It brings Yusaku up short, because, well he’d just  _ assumed  _ Shinagawa would want what everyone else had wanted from him up to that point - a willing body, a pretty face, the thrill of doing ( _ haha) _ the forbidden. It occurs to him that that  _ is _ foolish - Shinagawa’s approach hasn’t been like anyone else up to this point. It stands to reason that with this too, he might be unique as well.

“I won’t be kept, I won’t pretend to  _ love _ you.” he says anyway, just in case he’s not that different after all - just less inclined to fuck around before getting to the point. It comes out a bit more aggressive than he’d like, just the thought of some of his client’s assumptions leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.

Shinagawa is already shaking his head, “I will not say, I wouldn’t be  _ overjoyed _ to have someone like you as mine.” he says, “But I had inferred as nobody else has snatched you away, that option was not on the table.”

“You don’t think you could be  _ special?” _ he says and he can hear the underlying laughter in his tone. It brings him up short, because he can’t even remember the last time conversing with  _ anyone _ even resembled what he remembers having fun felt like. 

“I think I’m  _ very _ special,” Shinagawa laughs, his tone over-the-top sultry, before he sobers up again. “But I’m also sure some people aren’t meant to be kept.”

It feels like being thrown into cold water, but in a way going into a mountain spring on a hot summer’s day is like - a shock, a surprise, but also refreshing and new and cleansing. The emotion gets stuck in his throat, silencing him again. 

Shinagawa spends long minutes contemplating him, both of them finishing up their main course (which is delicious once again, even though Yusaku normally doesn’t care about the taste of food). The waiters clear it away, quietly bringing them new drinks.

Finally Shinagawa sighs and says, “You really do not have to be worried about this. This,” he waves a hand at the table, the restaurant, “is a business dinner more or less. Where we both say what we want to get out of this, to see if our interests align.” 

“And if they don’t.” he says.

“Then they don’t.” Shinagawa shrugs.

“Just like that?” Yusaku says and he can hear the disbelief faintly in his own words.

“Well, I won't pretend that it wouldn’t be a  _ shame _ ,” Shinagawa says with a wistful look at his face, before his gaze slowly moves down Yusaku’s body, clearly mentally undressing him and finishing up with an over-the-top sigh. “But yes, just like that.” he goes on with a smile, not as wide or teasing as his previous ones, but instead - businesslike.

It really shouldn’t reassure him, because these are just  _ words _ , but somehow it does. He wouldn’t say he fully trusts Shinagawa, but somehow he finds, he trusts him in that.

“It lets me sleep.” he says. It visibly confuses Shinagawa for a moment, trying to slot the statement into their conversation. Yusaku can see when he makes the connection, his eyes widening, his eyebrows shooting up.

He can see the questions in his eyes, and  _ god _ this is why he doesn’t want to talk about this. Instinctively, he goes on the offensive, trying not to see a gridded field, trying not to feel rough paper, a thousand strategies unfolding in front of him, clear and beautiful “Yes, I’ve tried other things. This is the most effective.”

“I...see.” Shinagawa says, and Yusaku braces himself for- “Anything in particular?” 

“What?” he says, because this isn’t what- 

“I mean, is it just sex that does it? Or do you have certain….preferences?” The tone of his words are so neutral, you’d expect him to start taking notes, but his eyes...the fire is fully lit in them, excitement and curiosity all over his face.

It’s a bit of an anticlimax, the fact that Shinagawa won't pry, doesn’t seem to care too much, why it is that a 15-year old has insomnia so severe selling himself to the highest bidder was the better choice. Yusaku almost can’t breathe through the relief, unnecessary adrenaline shooting through his veins.

“I like to be fucked.” he says, through the rushing in his ears. “Hard.”

“Rough?” Shinagawa asks. Yusaku nods. “How rough?” and now he clearly  _ is _ taking notes, even if only mentally. 

He shrugs. “It’s not been too rough, yet.” 

“Interesting.” Shinagawa says, his voice slightly deeper. “Anything else.”

Yusaku tries to really think about it, since before now nobody has ever actually  _ asked _ what he wanted to do. But the subject matter, together with the adrenaline and Shinagawa’s piercing gaze, has made him half-hard. It’s an experience that’s new to him, actually getting  _ turned on _ before anything even happens, so it’s slightly harder to concentrate.

“It’s better if it takes longer for me to come.” he finally settles on, because that he’s relatively sure about. “Or if I come more than once I guess, but that rarely happens, so I’m not that sure about it.”

“Well, I can definitely work with  _ that _ .” And he certainly  _ sounds _ eager. 

“What about you.” Yusaku says, attacking again, because if this is a business transaction, if this is about discerning their  _ aligning interests _ , he can’t risk being at a disadvantage by not knowing what Shinagawa  _ wants _ .

“You want to know what I like?” Shinagawa says, looking delighted.

“I want to know what you  _ want _ .” he says, the emphasis hopefully clear. He knows he does a good blank-face and he applies it now, ignoring the warm beat of his half-erection.

“I certainly  _ want _ to help you figure out if several orgasms work as well, as a drawn-out one.” he starts with, but Yusaku knows this technique now.

He feels it in his gut, in that now long unused place inside that would tell him when to hold back a trap card, when to activate his spells, when to attack all-out. It’s clamoring at him, in a way both familiar and terrifying, that he can’t let himself be distracted now, that if he ignores the set card from 5 moves ago,  _ now _ , he’ll lose control of this duel, he’ll forever forfeit the even ground.

“Don’t bullshit me” he says, not loud, but assertive and deliberate enough that Shinagawa immediately loses his easy smile, straightening up. “You could have gotten  _ that _ with money. You could have gotten that instantly. From anyone”

Yusaku can feel all the speculation of the last weeks, all the strands he’s clearly been collecting in the back of his mind, labelled “Shinagawa” connecting. “You are a busy man, an important man. And yet you followed me,  _ clearly _ spend a lot of time, effort and funds to send me personalized gifts.”

Shinagawa has settled back into his chair now, his face neutral, but he can feel something in the air, like a wolf frozen in place, listening, listening,  _ waiting _ . “What that tells me, is that you don’t just want someone to fuck. But you also don’t want to  _ keep _ me. So it can’t be this either.”

“Which means the only explanation that seems to make any sense at all, is that you are simply  _ bored  _ with what you can get with money.” he says it with confidence, but he doesn’t really know, until he says it and something in Shinagawa’s face  _ twitches _ . The rush of excitement that goes through him at that almost makes him wish for a deck in his hand and an opponent on the other side of the table.

“Well done, Yusaku-kun.” Shinagawa says quietly. Yusaku should probably be wary, be afraid that he just made a powerful man angry, but the cocktail of adrenaline, endorphins and arousal only lets him feel the powerful high of a  _ win _ . 

“I was indeed very bored.”  he says, still in the same quiet, controlled voice. “But  _ you _ excite me.” he leans forward at that, which is the first time Yusaku notices that his breathing is the tiniest bit uneven, his hands slightly clenched.

His dick gives a tiny throb at that, which is new, but certainly not unpleasant. Suddenly, he actually  _ is _ eager, not only for release, but getting fucked by this seemingly mild-mannered man with the dangerous glint in his eyes.

So when Shinagawa says, “I think there is certainly enough of aligned interests between us, to see if we cannot make this into a mutually beneficial arrangement for both of us,” there really is nothing to do but to agree.

* * *

The thing Yusaku has learned about Shinagawa is that when he sets his mind to something he achieves it.  _ The secret to my success _ he once said with a chuckle.

Yusaku is reluctant to call it relentlessness since he associates that with pointless exuberance. Whatever, he doesn't really care too much - he cares that it's effective, it  _ works _ . At the start of this, even before he really understood why, before he needed to get a burner phone to get away from clients who expected, who wanted too much, he'd made a small rule for himself - repeat customers only if they are spread out, at least a month between appointments, always with at least one other person in between. 

It was a good system but he can't apply it to Shinagawa - though he reasons Shinagawa isn't his typical client. It's not like he's exclusive with him or anything – sometimes he appreciates the simplicity of playing his part. Shinagawa’s method might be more effective, but he also wants more from him, keeps asking for his opinion, takes him places, makes him interact, forces him to be present.

It's an interesting experience and maybe other people would say it's good for him, but sometimes it's too much, too close. 

He doesn't think he's been that disconnected from his feelings, from who he is now. If nothing else he thinks he sees himself as clearly as he could - but maybe that's just another lie, maybe he _ has _ been ignoring himself.

The mask, when he needs it, isn't any easier or harder to put on since the thing with Shinagawa started, but he's been more aware how reluctant he's been to step into himself now that someone is demanding he do it. 

_ Slap  _

“No checking out on me, those are the rules,” Shinagawa says, idly caressing his ass where he just slapped him. 

_ Case in point.  _ Yusaku thinks, shifting his weight. It causes him to let out a muffled groan when it makes his dick brush against the sheets under him, makes the dildo inside him shift in interesting ways.

They’ve been at it for what must have been over half an hour (though it turns out that when Yusaku is forced into being all there for this, he is awful at judging the passage of time, so it could really be any amount of time) and Shinagawa has picked today as a day Yusaku has to wait on his dick. 

_ I want to make sure to work you up to it _ , is what he said when Yusaku asked once why he takes such a long time to just fuck him. Considering that he sometimes starts with toys that are about his size or even bigger that seems like a lie. It confuses Yusaku a bit, because it’s not like he can get off like this and anyway isn’t the advantage of getting a whore that you don’t have to lie about things?

_ Are you unsatisfied with what we do, Yusaku-kun? _ Shinagawa always asks, which pretty much end these conversations. Because he really can’t say he is. Whatever Shinagawa gets out of seeing Yusaku writhing, sweating, tears running unchecked down his face – he doesn’t need to understand it, because  _ he _ certainly gets what he needs out of it.

Which is how he ended up here, with a gag in his mouth and the biggest dildo he’s ever seen inside him. His hands are clenched in the bedsheets above his head. It’s their compromise – Shinagawa likes to make sure in these moments that Yusaku is not going to touch himself and he doesn’t like restraints.

_ slap slap SLAP _

The last one hits on the base of the dildo and Yusaku can’t stop the loud cry at that, can feel a few tears leaking out, because it pushes the toy another few millimeters inside him, moves it against his prostate. He can’t help clenching up, but there is no way to  _ do  _ it, he’s so full that his muscles only flutter futilely. 

“I’m serious, Yusaku.” Shinagawa says, still sounding as unruffled as ever, as if they are discussing his work performance or the play they just watched. “Either we do this right or we do not do it at all - it’s your choice.”

He knows he means it, too. Maybe he really has a bit of a reckless streak, a ‘need to test boundaries’ as his third therapist kept telling him. Whatever it is, he has pushed Shinagawa on this point and it ended up with him being sent home, twitching and aroused.

It’s definitely not what he wants tonight, has in fact called on Shinagawa only two weeks after their last meeting – he’s not going to waste having to endure that smug smile of gratification on the other man’s face when he opened to door to him.

So he gets his knees under him, moves them apart, offering himself and lets out a heartfelt moan, deep and wanton – a sure way to fire up pretty much any client he’s ever had and Shinagawa is no exception.

“Good.” Shinagawa says, satisfaction coating his voice like chocolate, deepened with desire now. 

He goes back to caressing his ass, the top of his thighs, kisses the small of his back, the dip that is forced there by his position. Against his better instincts Yusaku starts to relax into the gentle caresses, not drifting away, just feeling the sensations, nothing he can do about it anyway.

It’s almost like a trance, his arousal being notched up higher and higher, but it’s fine, he’s awash in the sensation, shivers every time his hard dick brushes anything to give it friction, he can taste the orgasm at the back of his throat, only it’s  _ just _ out of reach, just not e-

_ slap slap SLAP SLAP SLAP _

He’s torn out of this quietness violently, Shinagawa’s hand slapping his ass and the back of his thighs in quick succession and it’s what he needs to tip over the edge, his body doing it’s best to clench, but he  _ can’t,  _ the only thing it does is make him feel the hard shape inside him even clearer. He breathes wetly around the gag, high pitched sounds buried in the back of his throat, feels every inch where it’s pressing on his prostate and the orgasm is wrung out of him in increments, going on for what feels like minutes.

He comes back to himself, collapsed in the sheets sweating,  _ gasping _ , to the sensation of the dildo being replaced by Shinagawa’s warm, silky dick, slowly, slowly being fed inside him where he’s still sensitive and quivering.

He can’t even perform, he can just lie and  _ take _ it and it’s  _ glorious _ . Even when he doesn’t care enough for the people paying for the chance at his body to service them, there is still at least  _ something _ particular they want from him – sometimes he does it, sometimes he doesn’t, but even this bit of expectation in the air always leaves a bitter aftertaste, a mixture of failed connections and disappointments.

He doesn’t get that with Shinagawa – it’s not like he doesn’t want anything from Yusaku. In many ways he wants more than most, pushes Yusaku harder than anyone else. But here, in this, his fingers tingling where they weakly grasp at the sheets, his skin alive with sensation, aware of every bit of silk sheet touching his sweaty skin, there is nothing.

He’s lost in this, tiny whimpering moans that he can’t control, just  _ feeling _ every tiny bit of his body, where his dick is slowly growing hard again, while Shinagawa moves over him, in him, gathers him close and coos endearments in his ears.

 

* * *

He wakes up an indeterminable time later in a bed that has become a bit too familiar for comfort, to the sun high in the sky.

Despite what Shinagawa always says about his attention being required their encounters mostly end with him  _ not _ being present for the end – or at least not remembering it. He doesn’t know if that’s good or bad. It doesn’t matter in the great scheme of things, he supposes. Because it is clearly past 10 and he just woke up.

He stretches out languidly, when Meiko jumps on his chest, settles in and starts purring. They stay curled up for this for a while, Yusaku luxuriating in the afterglow of uninterrupted sleep.

“Sometimes I think you only like me for my cat.” Shinagawa says from the door. “I fear you are planning to run away with her.”

“Maybe I am.” Yusaku replies, too relaxed to build up his walls yet. “I’m sure you’ll find someone else to warm your bed.”

“That’s where you’d be wrong.” he says with the smile in the voice that means he’s smugly satisfied about the amount of time he’s rendered Yusaku unconscious. “Meiko is one of a kind.”

He snorts, even though it’s never a good idea to hand Shinagawa too many wins in a row. “Don’t you need to be at work.” It might be Saturday, but he doesn’t think the other man  _ has _ days off.

“I already was at work and now I come bearing breakfast and a request.” Shinagawa says, depositing the overladen breakfast tray next to Yusaku in the bed. He sits up a bit reluctantly, not quite ready to be done with the sweet lassitude enveloping his limbs. However, the other thing Shinagawa puts next to him is a company laptop and his curiosity finally overwhelms his need to cling to the all too fleeting golden remnants of a lazy morning.

“What kind of request?”  he asks, even while his fingers already twitch. It used to be they only went on whatever outing Shinagawa had planned for them – a play, the opera, an upscale bar and once memorably suit shopping – after which they would go to his home or a hotel to fuck and Yusaku would wake up with a note next to his pillow or himself moved to his apartment.

But then one night his well-deserved Shinagawa induced sleep was interrupted by low-key stressed conversation from the next room and frantic typing. It had been some sort of security breach – Yusaku doesn’t even remember. He only remembers wanting to go back to sleep and recognizing the code as something he’d seen recently, scouring message boards in the middle of the night.

Some vulnerability built into a much used software, some demon in the machine. He’d taken away Shinagawa’s laptop and closed the backdoor the software hadn’t been rid of yet. It hadn’t been particularly pretty or sophisticated, but he felt confident it would hold until the next day Shinagawa’s highly paid engineers could get to it.

It really had been only coincidence he had come across this particular bit of coding in the days before (though maybe not – he tended to frequent the hacker boards when the grinding of his thoughts became the loudest, the complexities of code often the only thing capable of tuning it out). 

Despite him explaining this to Shinagawa numerous times, the result is this: Shinagawa presenting him with these sort of “requests”. Snags, coding errors, lines of security protocols Yusaku is pretty sure he’s not allowed to have access to. 

He doesn’t like the feel of a snare closing bit by bit on his feet every time he can’t help himself from looking at it, from trying to find a solution. Like this is a project, like  _ he _ is one and he’s getting prepared to be locked up, locked away to some higher purpose. 

But until now it has been mostly a nagging, tiny thought, nothing next to this  _ challenge _ . Traps, combinations, solutions coalescing into one final road to victory. Phantom sensation of electricity crackling along his nerves when his first few attempts get shut down. 

He knows exactly what this reminds him of, what this is the weak substitute for. Yet he can’t stop himself, the thrill of  _ triumph _ over a foe, over adversity. The heroin shot of still being here, of being  _ alive _ , even if it’s just an echo of what he actually longs for.

He’s done way too fast, the coding tricky, but still easily exploitable. It suddenly makes him long for the sensation of paper under his fingers – just for a second, for a tiny heartbeat and yet it leaves him short of breath.

He can sense Shinagawa watching him like a hawk, add another observational puzzle piece to the Yusaku in the steel trap of his mind. It makes him feel naked, even though he’s more clothed right now than he’s in 80% of their encounters. But the expensive pajamas Shinagawa always dresses him in suddenly feel insubstantial, transparent next to the itching under his skin.

“I have to go.” he says. It’s too abrupt, he knows it is. Understand he’s giving too much away to someone who already knows him too well, even while he knows nothing about him (god, please let him know  _ nothing _ ).

But he can’t help it, his fingers are twitching, he wishes feebly, irrationally for the weight of a duel disk on his arm, weapon and armor in one.

“Alright.” His tone is neutral, his demeanour pleasant as it always is, while he gets Yusaku his clothes, helps him dress (one of the very few demands  _ he _ made). But Yusaku can’t help feeling cornered anyway. Can’t stop himself hearing his question from over half a year ago, in the air between them. 

_ The question is: what do you want _ ? 

He thinks he can see it in the air between them. In the shrewd look in those eyes grown cooler with calculation. The way it has buzzed between them every time Shinagawa brings him some new challenge, treats him in a way you don’t treat your teenage-whore, or your expensive pet, but instead a puzzle, something that could be useful maybe, if only put together right.

_ The question is: what do  _ you _ want? _

Yusaku doesn’t know. Maybe he never did, even back then. He just knows that if there is an answer to be found, it won’t be found here, in this too big house, with this too clever man waiting for him to fall off the precipice of revelation. 

That despite the connection that had grown between them in these in-between spaces, this unreal dream space they existed in, Shinagawa wasn’t part of  _ this _ . If there truly is an answer, it’s probably inside of him, waiting to be discovered, like the bit of code that makes the whole program malfunction.

* * *

There isn’t really a reason when it happens (Or maybe it’s more correct to say, there are too many reasons). 

The night is not significantly different than any other (except that maybe it is – maybe he is different). He doesn’t wake up screaming earlier or later. The dreams aren’t more horrifying than they ever are - the part of him that used to hope that he could be numbed to the horror long gone.

It’s still vivid, still so real he clutches at his sheets in terror. 

He will never quite know what it is about this night, about this early morning twilight moment, where he’s sitting up in bed, shivering, trying to just breathe,  _ breathe. _

But suddenly he thinks  _ enough _ . All of a sudden, the solution is within him in crystal clarity, so real he thinks he can almost touch it.

_ The question is:  _ what _ do you want? _

It used to be: To go back to Before. To be whole again. To forget, to not be alone, to not be  _ afraid _ .

For this to be over. To sleep.

_ Wha _ t _ do you  _ **_want._ **

**_I want to know why!_ **

The understanding propels him out of his bed to the drawer containing the ghost haunting him in every moment of elation. He feels the worn paper on his fingers, curls his hand around it, thinks he can taste blood. 

Finally knows what was missing, what would finally get him to move the decisive step  _ forward _ , was always buried here, waiting for him to grasp it. He was waiting for it to be sweet, to be peaceful, to be what he remembered life being, those rose-coloured memories of the past. That there surely was an answer to be had, that is would come to him in due time.

He should have known, taken the thing he had learned, standing alone and hurting and bent.

You make your own destiny. You  _ fight _ for what you want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, reached canon, so that's all she wrote (for now)
> 
> Thank you for reading up till now, you are all my favourites, maybe I'll write the post-canon TakeYusa set in this universe, haha.


End file.
